Chapter 8 - Pressure
Jonah Pierce did not sound like a man calling to confess.
He sounded like a man hiding.
His voice came through Samantha’s phone barely above a whisper.
“Are you alone?”
Derek looked around the treatment area.
“No.”
“Who’s there?”
“Doctors. Nurses. Samantha.”
“I told her not to go to the hospital.”
Derek’s patience disappeared.
“Eli can barely feel his legs. Marcus is sick. I’m coming out of surgery. Stop worrying about who’s listening.”
Silence.
Then Jonah said, “The gas blend was outside spec.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Jonah.”
“The primary analyzer died during calibration.”
“We know.”
Jonah stopped.
“How?”
“Samantha.”
Another pause.
Derek continued.
“She says Halpern ordered you to bypass it.”
“He said use the previous verified blend.”
“Was it the previous verified blend?”
“No.”
Derek closed his eyes.
“What was it?”
“We had switched supply banks.”
“Without analysis?”
“I tried to stop the dive.”
“Did you?”
“I told Grant we couldn’t certify composition.”
“And?”
“He said the bank had supplier paperwork.”
Derek’s voice hardened.
“Paperwork is not analysis.”
“I know.”
“What did the supplier paperwork say?”
“Trimix blend within requested range.”
“What range?”
Jonah told him.
Derek opened his eyes.
“That would still match the decompression plan.”
“That’s what Grant said.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Jonah’s breathing became audible.
“The bank pressure fell too fast.”
Derek frowned.
“What?”
“After you went down. Consumption didn’t match what it should have.”
“Leak?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But?”
“I checked the reserve manifold.”
Derek felt cold.
“And?”
“The cylinders had been mislabeled.”
No one around the phone moved.
“How do you know?”
“One serial number matched an older delivery sheet.”
“What was in it?”
Jonah hesitated.
“Higher nitrogen fraction than planned.”
Derek’s face went still.
“How much higher?”
“I don’t know. I never got a proper sample analyzed.”
“You sent six divers to two hundred twelve feet on a mixture you could not verify.”
“I didn’t send anybody.”
“You were gas technician.”
“Grant told me—”
“You knew.”
Derek’s voice rose for the first time.
“You knew the analyzer was dead.”
“I tried to stop it!”
“Not hard enough.”
Jonah went silent.
Derek immediately regretted the words.
Not because they were entirely wrong.
Because they sounded too much like the words he had been using against himself.
Keane stepped forward.
“Jonah, this is Dr. Keane. Blame can wait. I need information that helps the people in front of me.”
Jonah’s breathing slowed.
“What do you need?”
“Anything you recorded. Cylinder serial numbers. Delivery paperwork. Panel logs. Dive depth, bottom time, ascent times.”
“I have copies.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew something was wrong.”
“Where are they?”
“With me.”
“Can you bring them to Harbor Crest?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They’re looking for me.”
Derek frowned.
“Who?”
“Northstar security called my apartment.”
Samantha whispered, “Jonah, they can’t—”
“I quit. Two hours later they wanted company property returned. Laptop, access card, paperwork.”
Clara Wynn stepped closer.
“Do not destroy anything. If documents relate to a workplace exposure, preserve them. We can connect you with investigators.”
“I don’t trust investigators.”
Keane said, “Trust the patients.”
That silenced him.
“You have information that may change how we treat them.”
Jonah exhaled.
“I can send the dive computer exports.”
Derek shook his head.
“Not email.”
“Why?”
“Company systems?”
“Some.”
“Then don’t.”
Clara said, “State investigators are sending someone here. We’ll arrange secure transfer.”
Jonah finally agreed.
When the call ended, Derek sank back against his pillow.
Nadia stood beside him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Arm?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He stared at the ceiling.
“I spent years telling young divers that safety systems only work if somebody refuses to bypass them.”
“And now?”
“I worked the dive anyway.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew Halpern was pushing.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I knew something felt wrong.”
Nadia folded her arms.
“Does that sound familiar?”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“I knew something felt wrong when you came in. I had evidence, but not enough to explain everything. If I had decided that meant I was responsible for everything that happened before you arrived, you’d tell me I was being ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“So stop doing it to yourself.”
Derek almost smiled.
“You always this irritating?”
“Since childhood.”
Across the unit, Keane and the hyperbaric physician reviewed Eli’s case.
A second chamber treatment was planned.
Marcus would also undergo treatment based on symptoms and shared exposure.
Derek’s case remained complicated by surgery.
“Can he go into the chamber post-op?” Nadia asked.
The hyperbaric physician, Dr. Naomi Chen, nodded.
“With proper monitoring, yes.”
“And should he?”
Chen studied Derek’s chart.
“His cutaneous findings could have a decompression component. The vascular gas question is concerning. The delayed timing is unusual, but not enough for me to ignore a compatible exposure.”
Keane said, “Surgery controlled the local problem.”
“Then I’d treat.”
Derek heard.
“How long?”
Chen answered.
“First session could be several hours.”
“In the chamber?”
“Yes.”
Derek looked at the enclosed unit visible beyond the doors.
For the first time all night, Nadia saw genuine fear.
Not concern.
Not guilt.
Fear.
“You’ve spent thousands of hours underwater,” she said quietly.
He did not look at her.
“Water isn’t a locked metal tube.”
“You’re claustrophobic?”
“No.”
“Derek.”
“Yes.”
She waited.
He sighed.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention that?”
“I had enough diagnoses tonight.”
Dr. Chen overheard.
“We can work with anxiety.”
Derek shook his head.
“I’ll do it.”
“You don’t have to pretend you aren’t afraid.”
His expression closed.
Nadia understood.
Pretending had kept Derek functional for years.
It had probably saved people.
It had also put him in Harbor Crest eight days late.
She pulled a stool beside his bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Sitting.”
“I can see that.”
“When do you go in?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Then I’ve got twenty minutes.”
“For what?”
“To annoy you until admitting you’re scared stops feeling fatal.”
Derek looked at her.
Then, unexpectedly, laughed.
It hurt his arm.
He winced.
“Careful,” she said.
“That’s your fault.”
“Add it to my chart.”
Twenty minutes later Derek entered the hyperbaric chamber.
Nadia stood outside the viewing window.
The chamber door sealed.
Derek sat upright.
Monitors attached.
Bandaged arm supported.
He looked toward the window.
Nadia raised one hand.
He raised his right.
Then pressure began increasing.
At first everything seemed stable.
Eli was undergoing another treatment in an adjacent system.
Marcus was being prepared.
Clara met with state occupational investigators.
Samantha signed a statement.
Jonah arranged transfer of the dive logs.
For the first time since midnight, the chaos appeared to be moving toward order.
Then Derek’s heart rate jumped.
“Derek?” Dr. Chen spoke through the chamber intercom.
He nodded.
“I’m okay.”
Nadia could see he was not.
His breathing accelerated.
“Slow breaths,” Chen instructed.
Derek closed his eyes.
The pressure increased.
His injured arm began to ache intensely.
He gripped the seat.
Nadia moved closer to the glass.
“Can he hear me?”
Chen handed her the communication microphone.
“Yes.”
Nadia pressed the button.
“Derek.”
His eyes opened.
“You promised to annoy me,” he said through the speaker.
“Working on it.”
His breathing remained fast.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“Not the door. Me.”
He focused.
“Breathe in.”
He breathed.
“Out.”
Again.
“That’s it.”
Several minutes passed.
His heart rate began falling.
Keane watched from behind Nadia.
“You’re good with him.”
“He listens occasionally.”
“Rare condition.”
Then a technician approached Keane.
“State investigator brought the preliminary gas data Jonah sent.”
Keane stepped away.
Nadia stayed at the window.
Derek’s breathing stabilized.
Inside the chamber, the treatment pressure reached target.
Then Derek suddenly looked down at his left hand.
His fingers trembled.
He flexed them.
Once.
Twice.
His expression changed.
“Nadia.”
She pressed the microphone.
“What?”
“My hand.”
“What about it?”
He opened and closed his fingers again.
Faster than before.
The delay was disappearing.
Nadia looked toward Chen.
The physician saw it too.
“Interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
Chen did not answer yet.
But hope moved through Nadia.
If neurologic or tissue symptoms improved under hyperbaric conditions, the decompression component was more likely real.
Dr. Keane returned holding several printed pages.
His expression destroyed that hope almost immediately.
“What happened?” Nadia asked.
He lowered his voice.
“Jonah’s records include cylinder serials.”
“And?”
“One of the banks was not merely mislabeled.”
“What was it?”
Keane handed the page to Chen.
She stared.
Derek could not hear them through the glass.
Nadia read the line.
The gas bank used during the dive had been blended for a completely different depth profile.
Not necessarily poisonous.
But dangerously inappropriate for the dive Northstar conducted.
The decompression schedule Derek followed had been calculated for a mixture they were not breathing.
Every minute underwater had been based on false assumptions.
“Six divers,” Nadia whispered.
Keane nodded.
“We have three.”
“Where are the other three?”
“Nobody knows yet.”
Then Clara called from the hallway.
“Roland.”
He turned.
Her face was grave.
“State located two.”
“And the sixth?”
Clara hesitated.
“They can’t reach him.”
Derek watched them through the chamber glass, reading expressions he could not hear.
He pressed the communication button.
“Who?”
Nadia looked at Keane.
Then at Derek.
He already understood.
“Who’s missing?”
Clara checked the roster.
“Caleb Rourke.”
Derek went motionless.
Nadia knew from his face that the name mattered.
“How old?” she asked.
Derek answered through the speaker.
“Twenty-four.”
“Youngest diver?”
“Yes.”
“Where does he live?”
Derek’s eyes fixed on Keane.
“Three hours north.”
“Alone?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Keane reached for his phone.
Derek spoke again.
“Call the police.”
Clara said, “State already requested a welfare check.”
Derek’s face tightened.
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t wait.”
“Derek—”
“He told me after the dive his knees hurt.”
The room froze.
“You knew?” Nadia asked.
“He said he’d strained them climbing the ladder.”
“What else?”
Derek searched his memory.
Then his expression changed.
“He dropped his coffee.”
“When?”
“The morning after.”
“Why?”
“He said his hand was numb.”
Nadia felt the air leave her lungs.
A symptom.
Another ignored clue.
Derek looked at Keane.
“Find him.”
The welfare check reached Caleb Rourke’s apartment seventeen minutes later.
The responding officer found the door locked.
No answer.
A television playing inside.
Car in the parking lot.
Phone ringing unanswered on a kitchen counter.
And Caleb lying unconscious beside his bed.
Still breathing.
Barely.
May you like
Before sunrise, the quiet medical mystery at Harbor Crest had become a race to save four divers—and the youngest of them was arriving in the worst condition yet.
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